


all i need's a whisper in a world that only shouts

by the_one_that_fell



Series: the heaviness that i hold in my heart belongs to gravity [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7380070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty was usually okay with small spaces. Letting the team put him in a hockey bag for good luck? Totally fine. Hiding in a storage closet to film a vlog before a game? All good.</p><p>Getting crowded into a corner by a horde of frat bros?</p><p>Bad. Very bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all i need's a whisper in a world that only shouts

**Author's Note:**

> This is tagged with anxiety but I'm not really sure yet how I interpret Bitty's issues with physicality. I think it might be an anxiety tied in with his feelings of inadequacy and shame, but it might also be trauma from past bullying, especially the incident where he was locked in a shed overnight. The cause of his panic attacks isn't fully explored here so I'll leave the tags as-is for now. 
> 
> TW: two panic attacks explored in detail, Bitty's feelings of inadequacy and not being "manly" enough, canon-typical alcohol use and swearing, & mentions of Bitty's past experiences with bullying

Bitty was usually okay with small spaces. His mama had always said his irrational fears stemmed from claustrophobia, but that had never sounded quite right. Letting the team put him in a hockey bag for good luck? Totally fine. Hiding in a storage closet to film a vlog before a game? All good.

Getting crowded into a corner by a horde of frat bros?

Bad. Very bad.

It wasn’t that the bros were doing it on purpose - they didn’t even seem to notice him, trying to tuck himself against the wall, taking up as little space as he could. But they were loud and catcalling some of the tennis players and very, _very_ drunk. Bitty’s breath was coming in shallow and he knew the telltale jolt in his chest just before the hyperventilating started.

Bitty sank to the floor, pressing his forehead to his knees. No one was hurting him, no one even saw him, he was fine, he was at Samwell, everything was okay-

 _SOS_ was all he managed to type into the group text, his hands were shaking so violently. Bitty clung to the phone and clamped his eyes shut tight. The frat guys still hadn’t noticed him, though they came dangerously close to stepping on him every now and then.

The music was too loud. The thumping of the bassline was too fast, too sharp in his ears. Bitty dropped his phone and covered his ears, heart beating erratically. He wanted to move, wanted to run, but his muscles were tensed painfully, locked in place.

“Bits?” Was that Ransom? Bitty couldn’t bring himself to look. “Bitty? Holy shit, what’s wrong?”

“Are you hurt?” That was Lardo, Bitty was sure. “Bitty, can you look at me?”

“Not hurt,” Bitty managed to say. He didn’t lift his head. “Too- too many people.”

There was mumbling that Bitty couldn’t understand, then a third person was crouched next to him. “Bitty, can I touch you? I’m gonna get you out of here.”

That was Holster. “Yeah,” Bitty said. “Please.”

Then Bitty was in the air, hoisted into Holster’s arms. Bitty clung to his shirt, eyes still squeezed tight. They moved quickly through the crowd - an advantage of Holster’s height - and out into the cool night air. Holster set Bitty down on the grass, a little ways from the house, and Bitty managed to relax his muscles a bit.

When he opened his eyes, Holster, Ransom, and Lardo were standing above him, equal looks of concern on their faces.

“Are you okay?” Ransom asked. “Do you need water or something?”

Bitty shook his head. His breathing was still restricted, but everything was much more open outside, away from the house packed wall-to-wall with bodies. “I’ll be okay in a minute. Y’all can go back to the party.”

“Bro,” Lardo said. “We’re not leaving you alone after that. Do you want to go back to the Haus?”

Bitty nodded. “Yeah, but I can walk myself. Seriously, don’t let me ruin your night.”

“Bits.” Holster flopped down on the grass next to him. “Bro, you’re not ruining our night. We want to make sure you’re okay.”

Lardo looked like she was going to add something else, but was interrupted by a flurry of beeps from her phone. “Looks like Shitty just got your message, Bits. I’ll stop him from tearing the house apart.”

“My phone-” Bitty started, but Ransom held it out to him.

“Might be a little sticky from the floor,” he said. “But it didn’t get stepped on.”

The screen lit up and Bitty could see several notifications from the group text, mostly from Shitty. He slipped the phone into his pocket and stretched out his legs. The muscles ached like he’d just run a marathon.

“Bittle!” Someone shouted from down the sidewalk. Holster and Ransom turned in unison, eyes bugging slightly.

There, panting, standing in the yard wearing only a lightweight coat over his pajamas and no shoes, was Jack Zimmermann. Bitty had never seen him look so panicked.

“What’s wrong?” Jack demanded. “Is he hurt? What happened?”

“M’fine,” Bitty said, face heating up with embarrassment.

Jack approached, looking Bitty up and down for any sign of injury. “Your text-?”

Lardo sighed. “Hold on, let me send out the ‘We Found Bitty and He’s Not Dead’ text so we don’t freak anyone else out.”

“Bro, did you run here?” Ransom asked. Jack glared at him.

“Such a dedicated captain,” Holster said, holding a hand over his heart, but he only sounded half-kidding. “He’s okay, Jack. Promise.”

Bitty was mortified that Jack had run all this way because of his stupid SOS text. He buried his face in his hands, willing away the tears that threatened to fall.

“You sure about that?” He heard Jack mumble. Then, closer: “Bittle, can you walk?”

Bitty nodded, palms still pressed against his eyes, and rose slowly. His legs shook a bit but he took a few steps forward just fine. This seemed to assuage everyone else, who still looked tense and shaken.

“I’ll take you home,” Jack said, a bit more gently. “You’ll freeze out here in that hoodie if we don’t get you inside soon.”

The walk back was quiet. Jack had convinced everyone to stay behind, though whether it was for Bitty’s sake or theirs Bitty wasn’t sure. To avoid replaying the image of Jack running from the Haus in his head, Bitty began planning what he’d make as a thank you to his friends in the morning. Something chocolate-y for Holster, maybe brownies. Something lighter for Ransom, like the lemon-poppyseed muffins he always begged Bitty to make. Almond cookies for Lardo, packed away in a box that she could take to the art studio. And for Jack-

Anything. Everything. Whatever he wanted.

They were almost back to the Haus when Jack spoke. “You don’t...you don’t have to talk about it. But if you need to, I-” Jack took a deep breath, looking more awkward than Bitty had ever seen him. “I’m right across the hall. Always.”

Bitty smiled softly. “Thanks, Jack.”

They made the rest of the walk in relative silence, and by the time they parted on the second floor landing, Bitty was thrumming with nervous energy. He was exhausted, physically, legs trembling as he stood outside his bedroom door, but he couldn't will himself to enter that dark, enclosed room, not with its twinkle lights and Beyonce posters and _Señor Bunny._ Not when it was a blatant showcase of everything that made him different, made him a disappointment, made him _weak._ As soon as he saw the lights go out under Jack’s door, he headed downstairs.

Bitty considered going to the kitchen, but his heart wasn't up for baking tonight. Like his room, like his figure skating medals and neatly-pressed cardigans and prepubescent mien, baking was one more reminder that he was nothing more than a scared child pretending to be a _real_ man.

So Bitty, despite his reservations, settled on the diseased couch in the living room, drawing his knees to his chest. The telltale ache in his chest was growing stronger by the second, and Bitty sucked in a breath as the dark walls of the room started closing in on him.

Bitty wanted to escape, but voices outside the Haus kept him frozen in place. The LAX bros were in their yard, grunting and shouting and wolf-whistling. Just because they didn't _really_ fuck with the team - even they weren't dumb enough to try and fight hockey players - didn't mean they wouldn't _love_ to fuck with Bitty. His entire life he'd attracted the unwanted attention of that sort of alpha male, like he had a flashing, neon sign on his back asking jocks and bros to beat the shit out of him. Samwell was supposed to be a safe place, and he supposed outside of athletic circles it _was_ . But. _But._

He couldn't leave the Haus and the Haus was closing in on him, light seeping from his vision as the shadows grew and smothered him. Bitty fought to keep his breathing even and deep, but his lungs felt constricted and he was five seconds from hyperventilating. His hands were shaking violently and he was starting to lose feeling in his fingers, which, _fuck_ , that hadn't happened in years-

“Bittle, _breathe.”_

Jack was on the couch next to him, not touching, hunched in on himself like he was trying to be smaller, less imposing. Bitty squeezed his eyes shut; he couldn't bear to see Jack’s disappointment at how _weak_ his teammate was.

“Bitty,” Jack said softly. “Try to breathe with me.”

Jack took a deep, audible breath and held it, waiting for Bitty to follow. Bitty sucked in some air and they released together. Jack breathed in again and Bitty was quicker to follow, and they exhaled in tandem, slow and steady. They kept up this exercise for several minutes, until the shaking in Bitty’s hands was no more than little trembles of exhaustion and his lungs didn't feel like they were wrapped up in a plastic bag. When Bitty finally opened his eyes, Jack looked concerned and tired but not angry, not disappointed. Bitty gave him a weak smile.

“Tea?” Jack asked, standing awkwardly. “It'll help you sleep.”

“Sure,” Bitty said hoarsely. “Thanks.”

Jack smiled grimly and disappeared into the kitchen, not bothering to flip on any lights. Bitty flexed his fingers and focused on his breathing, the panic in his mind no more than white noise.

The sound of the LAX bros had dissipated somewhat, though it was still a Saturday night on a college campus and they'd be hearing drunk shouting for several more hours. Bitty rested his chin on his knees, wishing he'd changed into sweatpants before his second panic attack. He wasn't sure he had the energy to make it to his bedroom, let alone take off his jeans before falling asleep.

Jack returned with two cups of tea, chamomile by the smell of it. He had a Tupperware of lemon slices and a bottle of honey tucked under his arm, and it was so domestic and so unlike the Jack Zimmermann that Bitty met last year that it made Bitty smile.

“I usually take my tea plain,” Jack was explaining, setting the mugs on the coffee table. “But I know that you like your drinks sweet.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Bitty said as he reached for the honey. “This is really nice of you.”

Jack shrugged. “Lardo started doing this for me when she was a frog, and it really does help.”

That was an unexpected answer, but the image of Lardo and Jack sitting in silence and drinking tea warmed Bitty’s heart. He stirred in honey until it dissolved and squeezed a lemon from the Tupperware. Jack blew on his tea, testing it every few seconds to see if it was still scalding. Bitty found the action incredibly endearing.

The tea, it turned out, _did_ help. Bitty wasn't sure if it was the tea itself, the comforting warmth of the mug in his hands, or the fact that Jack Zimmermann made it for him that was so relaxing, but the moment he took a sip Bitty felt his shoulders loosen.

“I didn't even know we _had_ tea,” Bitty said after a few minutes. Lord knew he'd been trying to culture these boys, but this was still a frat house. They had more beer in the fridge than your average Stop 'n' Shop had on its shelves.

Jack smiled around the rim of his own mug. “It's mine. Don't tell the boys, but Lardo and I have a secret stash of tea and dark chocolate in my dresser.”

Bitty felt his jaw drop. “You have good chocolate in this Haus and you've been hoarding it? Mr. _Zimmermann_ ,” he played up his accent, throwing a hand over his heart. “I've never been more betrayed.”

Jack chuckled and rolled his eyes. “You keep this between us and Lardo and I might be willing to share.”

Bitty smiled softly. “You two are really close, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jack said, taking a long sip of his tea. “We’re similar people.”

Bitty couldn't help but feel like Jack was saying more. _We have similar issues_ , maybe, or _We understand each other._ Bitty knew, historically, that Jack was kind of a huge mess. Handsome, ambitious, and hard working, yes, but a huge mess of anxiety and substance abuse and anger issues. Lardo had never struck Bitty as anything but _cool_. He wondered, now, what exactly went on under her unflappable exterior.

They finished their tea in comfortable silence and Jack took both of their mugs to kitchen. Bitty followed with the lemons and honey, and they quietly put everything in its place, the kitchen lit only by the strobe lights of the lacrosse party and the dirty street lights on the sidewalk. No one had come back to the Haus yet, and Bitty wondered if they'd finally gone back to the party or were trying to give him space.

“Think you can sleep?” Jack asked and Bitty nodded. “C’mon,” Jack murmured, and they trooped up the stairs. Jack’s hand hovered over the small of Bitty’s back, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch, so when they paused outside of Bitty’s bedroom, Bitty broke the tension by wrapping his arms around Jack’s middle.

“Thanks,” he mumbled into Jack’s faded sleep shirt. “For everything tonight.”

“You're welcome,” Jack said, low and quiet. His chest rumbled with the sound, and Bitty took a moment to revel in it, the solid plane of muscle under his cheek moving as Jack spoke and breathed, the sound of his heartbeat in Bitty’s ear and the smell of _Jack_ enveloping them. It was a lot, but, for the first time tonight, it was a lot in a good way.

Bitty finally pulled away, mumbling an embarrassed, “Good night.”

Jack touched Bitty’s shoulder and smiled. “Night, Bittle,” he said, then disappeared into his room. Bitty watched the door close, then pushed his way into his own room, overwhelmed and exhausted. He face-planted onto his bed, pulled Señor Bun to his chest, and passed out without even taking off his jeans.

 

In the morning, the team was greeted with: a pan of brownies for Holster, a plate of lemon poppy-seed muffins for Ransom, a Tupperware of almond cookies for Lardo, a cherry pie for the other boys so they wouldn't feel left out, and some incredibly fancy-looking dark chocolate Earl Grey truffles that were not Bitty’s typical fare but made Jack laugh for a solid ten minutes before he spirited them away from the hungry masses. No one spoke of the party, nor did anyone mention the dark circles under Bitty’s eyes or the way he flinched when Dex and Nursey started arguing.

But they didn't really have to, it turned out. Because Jack poured Bitty another cup of coffee when he yawned, with just the right amount of cream and sugar, and Jack broke up Dex and Nursey’s fight. Jack squeezed Bitty’s shoulders when they got a little tense and Jack ate that entire plate of truffles and Jack gave Bitty soft smiles when he thought no one was looking.

 

A week later, a small, yellow teapot appeared in the kitchen. Lardo laughed at Jack when she saw it, but no one else have it much thought. It was just one more way Bitty had brought character to the Haus. One more spot of sunshine they weren't sure how they ever lived without.

 

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr at [eve-baird](http://www.eve-baird.tumblr.com)


End file.
